


Kisses

by kittyyzma



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: idk idk idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyyzma/pseuds/kittyyzma
Summary: They've really done it now. But in Ginny and Mike fashion, it's just another thing they do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I really tried to give myself a break but they make me so JSFBEJSKRJOE.

Ginny knows she's a lot of things to a lot of different people. But she's always hoped stupid isn't one of them. But this, this is stupid. It's stupid and reckless and she hates it a lot. But she's not completely idiotic nor does she hate herself enough to ignore the tension that's built up between her and her team captain. She's not that masochistic (okay so maybe she is.) And that's the problem. Because she's standing there, her hands wrapped around his arms, lips attached to his, letting him kiss her.

His beard tickles the soft skin of her face as his mouth slides over hers. She lets out a lazy sigh as she opens her mouth and her tongue greets his.

 _See_? Stupid…

She doesn't know how they ended up here — standing in her hotel room doorway — kissing each other as if life itself depends on it. But here they are. And as breathing becomes all the more naggingly necessary, he pulls away first.

Mike gives her one of the more confusing looks she's seen on his face and she becomes painfully aware that they've stepped over a line they both promised never to cross.

“Fuck.” She sighs, shoulders dropping as he presses a hand to his forehead.

The look on his face says that he agrees. To what? They're not sure. But they know. They just know. “It's not like I thought it would be.” He admits, pushing further into her hotel room. The door slams behind him and Ginny is certain the entire hotel floor hears it. It just registers that kissing her team captain probably wasn't a good idea. She knows she should thank her lucky stars that they weren't caught, because she’s not ready for that shitstorm. She thinks she probably would have exploded if they hadn't done it. Her eyes meet his and he continues on, “And I don't mean that in a bad way…it was _better_.” There's no cocky comment to follow because he's entirely floored by this whole situation. “And I don't… I _don't_ like that.”

Ah, and here it is… The reason she had let him kiss her. Actually, she remembers clearly that it was her who had initiated the liplock. She can't help it, her hand flies to her mouth — surprisingly soft hands brush against her kiss-swollen lips fondly — she tries to come up with some sort of feasible excuse for what they've done.

They aren't ignorant to the fact that they have a palpable sexual tension that makes everyone sort of uncomfortable. The long staring and quiet heat that bubbles over every time they're even around each other is totally ridiculous. But they've really done it now. Like really. And Ginny knows there's no going back.

Neither of them were planning on having this issue. But it's here and it's kind of a big deal. So before anyone else can really notice that they're aware of it, Ginny and Mike decided to test the waters. It was supposed to be one of those things that isn't as great as you imagine — she'd hoped it was awful — and the most daring part of her that she saves for baseball, has been certain she and Mike would never ever wonder _what_ _could be_ ever again. She'd really hoped to be disappointed because she knows that logically, there is no Ginny and Mike, there can't be. And yet…

She curses under her breath because it's so predictable. The girl falling for the guy when really they would have just been friends. They _work_ as friends. And they've effectively ruined a good thing. Because really, a kiss is just a kiss when it doesn't feel like anything. However… this feels like something.

It's so… it's sooo… not what this situation calls for. She's the first woman in the major leagues for chrissake.

But then again, screw everyone who put that on her. It's not her fault. It's not Mike's fault either. She doesn't want to be the spokesperson for change. She just wants to play ball. Like seriously, she just wants to play baseball. What's happening with Mike is completely secondary to that want to be a good pitcher and teammate. But it still feels wrong because everyone else will say it is. And that sucks. Because it could go sideways in any number of ways. And she knows from the way he's biting his bottom lip, he's thinking of all the negative things people will say.

 _Fuck_. She shouldn't be so angry about this. She knows that.

This backfired, because she knows exactly what he means when he says it was better than he imagined. Because she's too baffled to really hear that he's imagined this moment, she can't really feel the magnitude of actually enjoying a kiss with Mike Lawson. It wasn't anything too passionate or even heated, but it was soft and hesitant, dare she even think it, it was sweet. And everything contrary to what she'd ever thought Mike Lawson could be. (While she's always idolized him as a baseball player, she was never deluded enough to think he is capable of considering another human being’s feelings… that was before she met him and she had been wrong of course.)

But… she's sure that she's not sorry.

His thumb lazily rubs the slither of skin between where her shirt would meet her leggings if they hadn't wandered lower. Somehow they've past the threshold that decides whether or not this behavior is allowed. She doesn't correct him or even ask, instead she ends up pushing closer to the contact and steals another kiss.

It means nothing — holds no promises — but she latches onto him anyway because clearly, it's their thing now.

 

 

They manage to survive the trip to Chicago without much incident. Actually, Ginny can't remember the trip itself. But they're in the dugout at Wrigley, ready to head to the when pitch when they give each other a fleeting look and they both realize she's freaking out.

She doesn't know why. But she's anxious. She has never started in their games against the Cubs — there's probably no reason for that — but she thinks it and that's enough to get her mind rolling away. But it doesn't take a genius to realize that Al has a ridiculous amount of faith in her now. To everyone, she's beyond proving herself. But he _knows_.

Mike knows she puts this insurmountable pressure on her own shoulders. One look at her and he knows she's moments from a breakdown.

It's been a bad week. There have been a considerable amount of cruel articles about her in the media — they're over the initial shock and awe of a woman being in the MLB — and they've reached the part where her every secret is on the verge of being dredged up for the world to see. It's the cruel reality of being in the public eye. He's convinced himself he's lucky that he's not a woman because _god_ is his personal life a major source of media fodder.

Ginny takes a very large gulp of air into her lungs, she stares out across the field, taking in the surroundings. She knows it's not the upcoming game or the murmuring of the crowd. She's going crazy from what follows her around when it's all over.

Mike takes a look at Al, mutters something, and then he's pulling her into the hallway that leads back to the bowels of Wrigley field. He leans on the wall, looks around to make sure no one is looking — just in case this will be the time she actually lets herself cry— and then he just watches her. It's not accusatory in anyway. He's just waiting for her to say what's on her mind.

“I can't…” she starts and it's really the dumbest thing that could have come out of her mouth in that moment. She doesn't even know why she said it. He hasn't even said anything yet. She was always taught that can't isn't an option, not with the relevant things. They aren't talking about biology, like the speed of her fastball. But they are talking about things she has no power to change, and he can see the internal struggle she's feeling in a moment of what he's sure she thinks is stupid.

“You're being such a girl.” He says. Not because he's some sexist, but because he knows it'll pull her out of what she's piling onto herself. She hates being reduced to a gender. And if he has to say something that is a little, iffy, to get her out of her head, he's going to. _She hates being reduced to a gender._ Not because she's ashamed but because she knows everyone will throw it back in her face if she fails. It's not fair. And she hates when people pin the woes of a gender on her. Because no one is in her shoes.

Mike snorts at the completely taken aback look on her face. Mission accomplished. She's still bigger than the game. She's her own entity and it comes with a price. He's the only one that can ever remind her of that without sounding like a _total_ dick.

“Don't do it right now.” Ginny means to sound as if she's warning him, but really she's begging him to just… be quiet so she can think.

“Tell me what's bothering you.” He just flat out asks because they have about 5 minutes before someone will pop their head out the door from the dugout and tell them to come on. They don't have time for him to just stand there while she sorts out her feelings.

“You know what I can't understand…” she cracks, hands flying, head shaking as her face scrunches and she angrily looks at nothing in particular. “I can't understand why everything is suddenly so _important_. Why does it all matter suddenly now that I'm playing in the Majors?” She huffs. Ginny knows her personal life will always matter when everyone wants to see her fail. It's part of the reason she and Mike can do relationshippy things, but only in private. It's why he had to pull her from the dugout. Her personal life is something she'll have to keep close to the vest. And after the first game on the big stage, they all know it's possible for Ginny to fail. And they're gunning for her. She has her demons. Her family is in shambles at the moment and she hates it, she cares about these things and she'd like to change them. But she doesn't owe anyone anything. That time on Kimmel was just… it was a one-off… that's besides the point. She looks at Mike then, brown eyes wide and tears glistening, “And can we please just _stop talking_ about my dead dad?”

Ever since the story broke that she had been in the car the night her father was killed in a car crash, everyone wants to know how she's dealt with it. It hasn't lessened the media’s attention, they still wanna see her mess up, because that makes headlines. But there's a level of pity in it. As if tanking her career would be a mercy killing. She can see the pity on people's faces when they look at her. Even Tommy looks at her like she's broken.

Mike is the only one that holds it back and pretends like it's all the same as it was before. That's probably unhealthy. But her dead dad and the circumstances is just another thing on the list of things they just don't talk about.

Mike doesn't know what to say. For the life of him he can't come up with something that even resembles witty, comforting, or even helpful. It's a first. He's stumped. He thinks briefly that if she starts to cry then maybe it'll jump start some sort of response out of him but really that will suck. And all he can think to do is hug her.

She latches onto him — because really, she is such an emotional person sometimes — and presses her nose to his shoulder. His jersey smells like him. It's comforting. She can't remember when Mike fucking Lawson — her sports idol — became her source of comfort but anyway…

Ginny appreciates that he has no words for this situation. For all their banter, sometimes there's just meaningful silence. She knows she'd have gotten some advice from Evelyn or Blip — and maybe promises that they'd really give it to whoever upset her — for some reason, she thinks the moment between she and Mike is what she really needs. And she knows that Mike will never tell her how he'll handle certain things. It'll just happen. She'll turn on the tv and see that he defended her…. again. He protects her. She likes that, no matter how much hell she's given him in the past over it.

He bends a little at the knees so he can look directly in her eyes. “It's you and me out there.” She nods because that's exactly what she wanted to hear. He's said it before, that she needs to trust him when she can't really trust herself. And this is what he means right now. He doesn't wanna lay it on too thick — which, again, is odd for him. His gaze is firm and stern. She doesn't need funny Mike, she needs serious Mike who really wants to beat the Cubs in their home and start off the game series right. “We can talk about all of this later, hell maybe you can even cry. But right now, we have to go out there and kick some ass like… Batman and Robin… alright?”

Ginny nods curtly, pulling in a deep breath before she releases it. “I can do that. I'll probably call you off at least twice. Fair warning… And I'm totally Batman in this partnership.”

Mike chuckles and rolls his eyes. “ _Debatable_.” He argues lightly. Mike wouldn't be Mike if he didn't sound sarcastic at least once this whole time.

They head off back toward the door that separates them from the rest of the world. They look at each other because what else is there to do? He nods at her to confirm that, yes, she can do this. And she does the same, because yeah, she knows.

His calloused hand reaches for the doorknob and he turns to Ginny to give her one last look to make sure she's gotten herself together. He's unprepared for the moment she stands on her toes and kisses him. He leans into her as she pulls back, trying to follow her but it's over before he can really register that it's happening.

And then as if cold water is dumped on his head, he's hit with the realization that she's no longer standing in front of him but holding the door open for him, a small smile of amusement on her pretty face. He wags his finger at her, “I'm gonna get you for that.”

 

 

“We did good today, old man.” She says after the bus grows quiet. It's been a few days since her moment at Wrigley — they won that game by the way and they're ahead in the series — but they haven't really had the chance to talk it over.

He looks up from his phone, not that he was doing anything anyway, “We did. You only called me off once… I call that success.” Forget the homer he hit early in the 3rd, she didn't call him off more than once — _that's_ success.

She snorts and he smiles fondly. She challenges him on the mound all the time. So often that it's just become one of the things fans can watch for in a game.

“Food or drinks tonight?” She asks him, pulling her headphones from her head to hang around her neck.

He's not sure what to say for a moment because the answer should always be drinks with the rest of the team. But he's not opposed to the idea of food and alone time with Ginny Baker. And he should be. He _really_ should be. Because they've gone from playful banter — which they still do — to meaningful touches, soft smiles, handholding — which they currently are doing — and kissing — which he really wants to do in that moment — so he's really confused as to what he should say.

“You can say neither.” Ginny shrugs. “I mean, if you'd rather grumble alone in your hotel room and ice your knees, be my guest but—”

“You're so annoying.” Mike laughs, shaking his head.

She's won. He can't not spend the rest of the night with her. And it will be the rest of the night if he's lucky. Not that _that's_ the goal. But he won't be opposed.

“So food? Cause I'm not really in the mood for drinks. I want pizza.” She looks at him. And he's giving her a look she's seen before. It's a little less than love and a lot more than like. His lips are quirked in a smile and she feels her cheeks warm.

He looks around the bus just to say he did, before he leans across the space between them. She meets him in the middle and when their lips touch, she can't help but smile. 


End file.
